Losing Sight of Yourself
by Alexandria Kennedy
Summary: She was not always the killer people believed her to be. Clove Isaacs was just a product of the Capitol. It was not her fault that she was driven to the point where she no longer recognized herself. Warning: Scattered throughout the fanfiction. One-shot


What happens when you lose sight of yourself?  
>When you forget all that you were, that you are?<br>Do you continue going through life as a stranger?  
>Do you ever realize that you have changed?<p>

There was a cool breeze that blew my dark hair in my face, leaving me to brush it out of my eyes and stand as still as possible. For whatever reason, my stomach was uneasy, my heart was not beating, and my breath caught in my throat. The strange-looking Capitol man pulled a slip of paper out and read the name aloud. A small girl of about twelve years old began to walk on stage, two Peacekeepers making sure that was where she went. Just before she could make it, though, I found a voice.

"I volunteer!" I shouted. "I volunteer as tribute!" Heads turned in my direction, but nothing more happened. I was brought up to the stage where I stood awkwardly; trying hard not to notice that there was no one crying for me. There was no one that had to be brought home because there was no chance of someone trying to save me from the horrible Games. However, no one would have noticed that I was trying not to think about this, as all the while I was on stage, I had a smirk planted upon my face.

The girl whose place I had taken was engulfed in a woman's arms, a woman who I had suspected was her mother. In that moment, I wished that I had a mother. I wanted someone who cared for me, and would be brought to tears at the fact that I had willingly volunteered to be killed in the Hunger Games.

I knew from the beginning that I had no chance to win, especially when my fellow tribute was the boy with the sword. Ever since I was smaller, I had admired him from afar. The way he was able to handle a sword so well, but failed at throwing knives. The fact that he was so strong about his opinions was always something that I wished I had.

So I pretended that I did.

I went around, pretending that I was outspoken, saying something that would only come from a girl from District Two.

That was not me, though.

In the Games, everyone saw me as the girl who wanted to win, who would to great lengths to kill everyone. Was that truly what I was? No. That was who I pretended to be. I wanted to be like Cato, in a way. I understood that in order to win, I would have to prove to Cato that I can be strong.

But being strong and leading a fake life were two different things.

XXX

"What was her name? Rue?" I asked, laughing like an idiot. My knife was tracing little patterns on Katniss's cheek, and a smile was plastered to my face. It had been so long since I lost sight of myself. I did not even know who I was or what I was doing. The night before, I had seen the reflection of a stranger in the river.

I was no longer Clove Isaacs. I was a monster created by the Capitol for their own personal enjoyment. And looking into Katniss's eyes, I realized that I had allowed myself to be twisted and broken into the creature I was. It was my own fault, really, and no one else's.

There was something about Katniss that the monster I was could not stand. She was annoying and foolish, and this monster wanted her dead. However, as I traced the knife over her cheek, something tugged at the back of my mind. Clove had become to surface, trying to take over the monster she had turned in to.

In the few seconds before Thresh pulled me off of Katniss, I mouthed the words, "I'm sorry." I doubted that she noticed, though, as all she could do was stare at me while Thresh bashed my head in with a stone. I had called Cato's name, but he never came to my rescue.

If there was one thing that I wished I could have changed about my life, I would have tried not to lose myself. I would have continued being Clove Isaacs, not a product of the Capitol. Careers were supposed to enjoy the Games, but the very thought sickened me.

I wished I was not broken in the end; that I had not tried to be the killer that I was not.

I wished I did not volunteer.


End file.
